Mechanic Angel
by Ruxel Harrows
Summary: There was a time when I wouldn't have been ashamed to show him my face. But now I'd cost him everything. And not just him. Everything important to me was going up in flames around me, eating up the people I loved, charring my wings. -RISKY PLACE/CATEGORY-
1. Got Wings? Got Sky? Good luck

_Okay, this is one of my first stories on this profile (not fanfic), and if the first initial chapter is confusing, the summary on my profile may help. Enjoy and please rate/review. Hope this is an appropriate category..._

Chapter One

Impossible. This wasn't possible.

I was falling through the air, like a a rock, like a ragdoll a child had dropped. My shoulder blades burned with electricity as I forced my wings to move, but that only ached my shoulders and back as I plummeted, tumbling over air and zooming through currents of jet streams, my wings jerking and pulling on my back.

_What was it? Ivan told me how to fix this!_ I screamed as I fell into the cloud bank, so afraid that the earth would smash into me as soon as I emerged on the other side, but only finding that it was a couple hundred feet closer, and approaching fast. I wondered shakily what people would assume when they found me body pressed flat against the ground, smashed into pieces, seeming to have fallen from the sky. Perhaps a fallen angel with metal wings?

_Wait...flat against the ground...that was it!_I tucked my wings in, feeling more vulnerable as they pressed against my back, my speed increasing, my hair blown back more. Lifting a hand, I tried to get another gulp of breath against the torrent of wind pressing against my face, then made my hand find the lever right between my shoulder blades, and pulled it up, away from the metal sheeting over my skin.

Almost immediately, my eyes blacked out for a second and I felt like my brain stopped working as the metochanics on my back drew so much electricity from my nervous system, I thought I was really going to die from it this time. My shoulder blades burned where the circuits were wired into my nerves, the normally benign electrical charges from my body suddenly becoming the type that could fry you in an instant, the heat from it making my back tingle and sting. But when I unfurled my wings, wincing as I was suddenly jerked up, I could finally breathe, and my watery, stinging eyes began to cool and adjust to the utter calm.

_I'm alive..._I thought quietly as moved up, my metochanic wings working tirelessly, back towards the cloud bank. Silencing my other thoughts, I focused only on the occasional sound of turning gears and pulleys that adjusted the position of metal feathers that were laid out on the edge of metal wings, which were mounted to my back.

I told myself to push up higher and finally submerged myself in the safety of the clouds, feeling a fine layer of mist settling on the hairs of my head and arms from the abundant water vapor. I pushed up more, remembering what Ivan had said about the metochanics working better in dry air, not clouds or places with lots of water vapor. My limbs were still trembling, and the cold sweat on my back was even colder this high up in the atmosphere, where less heat was trapped. But nothing calmed me as much as drifting along silently, just me and my wings, no matter how many times I came close to dying because of them.

Though, it _had_ been stupid of me to think I could keep up with that airplane for more than a few minutes without any preparation from Ivan. As he would say, 'You can't go over clocking the metochanics, or else the bio mechanics that transfer the electricity won't be able to create sufficient power.' Total gear-head talk.

But the nervo-boost had worked, hadn't it? Sure, I'd almost died from it, but I _didn't._ That was the whole point of the boost. Just suck up a jolt of electricity to balance the metochanics out, and you're totally fine. Still, I frowned as I barrel-rolled, knowing I'd never truly hear the end of it from Ivan. I could try hiding the fact that anything had happened, but he would find _something_ that told him what had happened, and I guessed it would probably be something with the bio mechanics, since they'd been charged with so much electricity. I sighed, rolling my eyes to myself, then pumped up a little, before going into a steep dive, plunging through the cloud cover, my wings pulled close to my back, falling in the safest way I knew how to fall.

Direction came to me without me understanding how, but knowing that Ivan had something to do with it, that he'd probably put some magnetic plate in my head so I'd know where I was, wherever I was. I probably had a scar somewhere on my head that could prove it, if I ever shaved it all off again, which was probably never gonna be necessary.

I was close to the house now, falling from the sky like a rocket, trying to be as fast as possible because I knew it was the only way to avoid being seen, while still being able to land without finding a bunch of trees or waiting until night.

At about fifty feet above the roof, I edge my wings out a bit, slowing down, and then some more, until I unfurled them completely in one quick, clean motion, thrusting my weight forward at the same time so I didn't belly-flop onto the hard house. My wings batted at the air noisily, great squalls of wind clearing the roof of crispy autumn leaves that had coated it while I was away. I hovered a foot or so above the shingled roofing, readying myself for the transfer back to land, and then pulled my wings in, a soft, metallic, sliding noise resonating around me as they resigned against my back and I landed lightly on the roof, my boots a bit of an annoyance for me, as they gave me something to trip over. I managed, though, and, with my wings pressed tightly against my back, almost like a second skin, I darted quickly to the edge of the roof and let myself down by gripping gutter with one hand and dropping, hanging in mid air for a moment before I let go.

I landed on the porch shakily, my nerves tired and buzzing with discontent at having to share their energy with the metochanics. It was hardly ever this bad, except after a long mission, but I guess that nervo-boost really did take a heavy toll on me. At least, heavier than I had expected (which honestly, was nothing).

I rubbed a hand across my eyes wearily and then approached the door, pulling the screen door open and yelling, "Ruxel's here!" through the heavier white front door. There was a crash somewhere in the big, sprawling house, and someone spitting curses as the fussed over it. Ivan.

Sighing, I lifted a hand to the top threshold of the front door and clawed the small edge of it until my fingers stumbled upon the key. He didn't like it when I let myself in just because I found out where the key was, but it sounded as though he was a bit busy to be worrying about that trivial little opinion at the moment.

Unlocking the door, I swung it aside and stepped inside, the sounds of Ivan half-shouting and cursing clearer than ever as the door swung back into place, followed closely by the noisy clang of the screen door.

Ivan's house wasn't exactly what, well, anyone in their right mind would call...neat. I stumbled over one of the many blueprints that were scattered on the floor or rolled up and set against the wall in rows. Small wads and sheets of metal were tossed about, at least, that's what it seemed like. Being trained and all, I could see where he was keeping each of his individual projects at the moment, tell where you were crossing the border from one insane idea into another. And one must also always wear shoes, or have very keen feet, unless you wanted to have screws and nails and bolts stabbing your feet.

I followed the sound of sliding glass and metal off to the side of the entry hall and into a short hallway, to the open door of his drawing room (a.k.a., his lab).

"Good, god..." I murmured, watching as Ivan struggled with a fire extinguisher, while a flame on his desk began to eat away at his notebooks and crap pieces of paper. He cursed as he flicked his eyes from his desk, filled with terror at the sight of his findings being burned away, then back down to the instructions on the side of the extinguisher, his eyes filling with fury.

"Give it to me!" I yelled shortly, and he jumped, but handed it over when I stalked towards him. I pulled the pin near the handle and then pointed the nozzle at the base of the flames, and pulled. White stuff exploded out the end, and a hissing sound filled the room as it attacked the flames, and I kept it there until the room was flame free, and let go of the handle. The room was silent except for our labored, startled breathing, and I knew Ivan was probably pressed up against the opposite wall of the fire, and I let the extinguisher thud to the floor before I turned around towards him and said, "You can make people fly and develop a system that makes you three square meals a day automatically, but you can't use a_ fire extinguisher_?"


	2. 2 Bad News Stings

_Sorry for the first chapter and how short it was! This one's a little longer, but here's to hoping they'll get lengthier as the story goes on. R/R._

Chapter Two

Ivan and I sat at the cluttered circular table in his kitchen while wires and pulleys and gears turned, his kitchen system whirring as a loaf of bread was sliced in an instant by a thin metal wire. I had a cup of one of his concoction's in my hands, and when I lifted it to my mouth to take another drink, I found myself wondering again what it was. Sort of fruity, but it had a sharp taste to it that bounced around my tongue. Two years, I'd been drinking the stuff, but I could never quite put my finger to what it was.

Ivan was across from me, my wings laid out on the table in front of him. You see, they can be detached since they're metochanics, which, as you may have guessed, is very convenient for me.

"But the nervo-boost worked?" He asked, and looked at my shoulders. I knew he was trying to figure out if he had to look at the bio mechanism, too.

"Yeah, but it was worse than you said. I think I blacked out for a sec." I replied, lifting the cup to my mouth again. I was already feeling my nerves starting to calm down, from whatever he put in it. Sure, if I wanted to know, I could just ask him and he'd be happy to reply, but sometimes it was better not to ask Ivan what's in his inventions, I knew.

"Hm. How are your bios feeling?" He asked, and I rolled my shoulders once to check.

"Achy. Kinda burning, too." The metal where the electric activity had been going on was still warm, and my skin felt irritated. He looked back up at me, his big glasses magnifying the size of his eyes, like a goofy scientist, which he was. "There's ice pads in the freezer. Cool off before it causes too much damage to your nerves."

I nodded and scooted my chair back from the table, standing and walking to the freezer, waiting for a pulley to finish closing it before I opened it on my own. In my experience, it was better to just let the machines do what they wanted. I grabbed an ice pad and pressed it against my shoulders, sighing a little from the pleasure of the coolness against my sore shoulders and back. My nerves thanked me kindly by dying down to a numb state, and I sat back down in the chair, carefully making sure that the pad was wedged between my back and the chair.

"Well, besides the monthly repairs to do, the metochanics look like they'll only need a bit more attention. I think I should look at your shoulders, though, since they're hurting more than usual when you fly out here." He said, looking up from the wings and pushing his glasses up on top of his head. He didn't look half-bad without his glasses, and to keep from showing my embarrassment at the sudden thought, I lifted my cup back up to my face and tipped it as far up as the juice stuff inside would allow. When I had drained it and set it back on the table, he was taking a final look at the feathers edging the wings, and I decided that my thought hadn't been _wrong._ His dark brown hair was constantly messy, though, and fell in his eyes if he didn't have his glasses holding it back, but other than, that, he did look good. Average, at least, with his normal-ish height and frame and lightly tanned skin, not to mention his eyes. Bright green, sometimes flashing gold specks when he watched me fly in the field behind the house and the sun hit them right. One time I'd almost veered into a tree because of them.

But Ivan was...my mechanic. And I'm pretty sure he looked at me only as a gift from the government for him to experiment on and sometimes keep him from getting too lonely. But there had been so many times when I was cooling down after working with my personal trainer, or when I was eating dinner alone in my room with the TV running in the background that I'd wished I had permission to fly out here and visit him, only because we both knew what being alone felt like.

Honestly, I missed the year I'd spent here the most. As preparation for being suited with the wings, I'd been sent out here for the first time, and met Ivan, the seventeen-year old Metochanic and Mechanic genius. "Metochanic inventions, those are what I dreamed up." He'd told me the first day I was here, watching him begin to build the frame of wings that would eventually be the center of my life. "You're going to help me see what I've dreamed of. I don't have to do it alone anymore."

I watched him as he finished checking the ridges of the feathers and straightened up, his eyes catching the sun as it fell through the window of the kitchen, setting off their gold sparks. I felt so small next to him, since I was four years younger, short, and sitting down; you could say that the odds weren't really in my favor.

"Alright, let's see the bios." He prompted, and I slid the ice pad out from behind me before I turned so that I was sideways on the chair, and pulled the back of my shirt up to my neck, grateful, oh so grateful, that he was such an oblivious dork when it came to his work.

I stayed like that for a while, my neck beginning to ache while my fingers became claw-like stones, gripping my shirt to my neck rigidly. I think he mostly just looked at it with his glasses and then I felt him take something and rap it smartly against one of the pieces covering my right shoulder blade, sending a pain similar to pins and needles down the right half of my back and causing goosebumps.

"How'd that feel?" He asked, and I felt him push my hand away as I went to rub at the goosebumps.

"Like pins and needles after you sit the same way for too long," I muttered angrily, wanting to rub at my back and crane my neck, and maybe even crack my knuckles and spine. I settled for focusing on keeping the back of my shirt at my neck, sometimes picking at the hem when he did something that made my hair rise or cause more pin and needle sensations.

I sat like that, hunched over with my head bent low, for at least another hour before he finished whatever he was doing, and both my shoulder blades suddenly stung horribly, burning and making me writhe in my own skin.

"The hell, Ivan!" I hissed, breathing heavily as he pressed an ice pad to my back, which, I had to admit, felt really nice.

"I decided to just disconnect nerves while I repaired the bio mechanism, so they'd have a chance to regenerate. I think you might want to start doing it while you're gone, since your nerves need to heal from all the electric currents." I bit my lip and nodded, while inside, I was thinking _no way, not a chance._

"Anyway," he continued, and I straightened up slowly, my back still tingling and burning as I let my shirt fall back down, soft against my sore back. "The basement's cleared up for you, there's stuff you like in the fridge down there, and I managed to fix the TV."

"You say that like its a big accomplishment, Van," I said, smirking up at him as I pressed the ice pad back onto my shoulders, and he grinned down at me.

"I'm not to good with the simple stuff, you know that." He retorted, and I smiled and shook my head. Weird and insane as he was, he felt like an older brother to me now, like a detached sort of family member. And I cherished that, since my parents were dead, and my real older brother had practically sold me to the government so I could be their flying experiment. I hadn't seen him in a couple months, anyway, but sometimes it still struck a painful chord in me when I thought about him.

I gingerly got out of the chair while keeping the ice pressed against my back and left Ivan in the kitchen as he gathered up the wings and his equipment. I walked past his rarely-used laundry room to the next door and opened it, looking down a long flight of stairs before I descended them, my boots clunking dully against the wooden stairs, my fingers trailing the wall for balance.

You could always feel it get cooler when you went down to his basement, since it was basically the only place that wasn't used by him on a daily basis, but I loved the cold, and it felt good on my neck and back, which were sweaty with tingly pain. I pried my feet from the bulky boots once I was down the steps, and was pleasantly surprised at how well he'd cleaned it up. The big projects that he worked on down here because it was more private were lined up against the far wall, and the long, comfy sofa was clear of notebooks and blue prints, and the bare cement floor was free of any hazardous nails or bolts, and felt so cool and pleasant against my feet that I exhaled a long, happy breath.

If only I could have escaped here, sleep on his couch and eat whatever food I liked, whenever I wanted it. I could spend my time learning about mechanics and flying in the field, get a job working on one of the farms near by, and above all, never have to go back to the lavish penthouse in Chelsea, where anything anyone could ever need was delivered to my fingertips as soon as I asked. I'd never have to spend a Sunday alone again in that huge place, eating cereal and watching TV all day.

I sighed and flopped down onto the sofa, wincing in pain, having disregarded my sore shoulders and landing on them. I rubbed them soothingly, sitting up and then standing, arching my back and twisting my neck, feeling less knotted afterward. I walked in a big circle around the basement, twisting my arms behind my head, working the kinks and knots as I looked at contraptions and machines that were dormant and still on the shelves.

When I passed by the fridge, I ignored it at first, but five feet past it, my stomach growled.

_Ohhh, food sounds so good now._

A half hour later, two slices of cold pizza, a turkey sandwich, two glasses of milk, and three scoops of ice cream had finally filled me up. Flying took up a lot of energy, and I ate at least three thousand calories a day, since people were worried about my height and small stature, along with the stress from flying. But now I was happy, watching cartoons on an old, boxy TV, with an ice pad from the fridge pressed between my back and the couch cushion.

"Ruxel!" Faintly, through the thick ceiling above me and the wooden door at the top of the stairs, I heard Ivan call out my name, and I cocked my head towards the base of the stairs. Soon enough, I heard him thumping down the stairs, his shadow moving steadily towards the bottom and then he himself emerging on the landing between the corner of the stairs. His jeans bunched up around his ankles, and his white button up shirt was open over a black undershirt. I hadn't turned any of the lights in the basement on, and the windows at the top of the walls were darkening with the outside world, so I saw his green eyes squinting into the darkness to adjust.

"Phone for you, Rux." He said, spotting my on the couch, holding out the portable phone to me. I got up and circled around the couch, picking it out of his hand; he turned immediately and practically bounded up the stairs, eager to get back to his machinery.

I eyed the phone in my hand warily, wondering who had called. Probably one of the people who acted like they ruled over me.

"Hello?" I asked, rubbing my arm as though a chill had just passed over me.

"Ruxel Valentine?" Someone asked in response. A man's voice, that sounded scathingly familiar, and made me set my jaw.

"Nate. Hi." I said blandly, falling back onto the couch, displeased with my brother, to put it lightly. And there was no chance that he was calling to say hi and talk. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. It's just that...well, you're being asked to stay at Ivan Medrox's." I _almost_ smiled. "You see, there's going to be another participant in the Winged Experiment." And my smile slipped, replaced by numbness.

"Another...another _participant?_" I asked, stressing the last word. "Why? How could they have"-

"Ruxel." I snapped my mouth shut, clipped and short by his harsh tone on my name. "Just stay there. Tell Ivan to expect the next participant in the next week."

"No. You can't...can't do _this_ to someone else! Are you honestly telling me to stay and witness someone else go through this?" I was fuming, and paused, waiting for him to answer. "Nate! Say something!"

More silence stretched on.

"Nate, please"-

"_Your call has been disconnected. If you would like to place a call, please hang up, and try again._" My mouth popped open, and I gripped the phone so tightly that I could hear it whine in protest, its plastic bending. As Tom and Jerry chased each other around the TV screen and beat each other up, I felt the powerful urge to kill my own blood brother.

My good judgment was gone and a moment later I was pounding up the stairs, resisting the urge to punch a hole in the wall as I slammed the wooden door at the top of the stairs open, stepping over screws and nails without flinching, to the drawing room, where Ivan was bent over my wings.

"You're letting them...you're..." I muttered angrily, so blinded by rage that I couldn't think straight, but knowing this still had to do with Ivan. "You're doing this to another kid?"

"It's not my decision. If I didn't, they'd have fired me." He said, turning to look at me. His eyes looked tired, looked sunken, with shadows molded under them. Those shadows had always been there, but I'd always thought it was from the long nights he stayed up working on projects. Had I been wrong?

"Idiot!" I shouted, and his eyes widened. "You idiot! I mean, you're a genius, yeah, but you're just such an _idiot!_ They can't fire you – you're the only person in the whole world that can make the things you do, so they can't fire you!"

"Rux, I"-

"Please, Ivan, don't do this to another kid." I said, suddenly feeling helpless, fully aware of the metal skin on my shoulders, binding around my back. "Don't put them through this crap. You know I hate it, so don't. Please."

"Rux," He said, and motioned for me to come towards him. I complied, feeling like my feet were filled with lead, as I lumbered over to him, and was shocked when he wrapped an arm around my small shoulders, pulling me to his side in a hug and placing his chin on top of my head. I stared at his shoulder, his white shirt draped over it. "Rux, I'm sorry."

His voice was raspy and I heard it shake, and I suddenly felt a pit in the bottom of my stomach, feeling horrible that I could've accused him. "I'm sorry I did this to you."

"N-no, Van...you – it's not your fault." I stammered, feeling the heat of his body pierce through the metal plates on my back. "They threatened you and forced you. If my brother hadn't just handed me over, they wouldn't have ever had someone for you to feel guilty for and..." He was shaking, and my hair felt wet. "Van...don't be sorry."

His chest shook with his breaths, and I felt my own breathe begin to rattle. The hand he had braced on the table with my wings on it had white knuckles, and was clinging to it like if he let go he would topple over. He finally loosened his arm around my shoulders and placed his other hand against the table as well, bent over. I watched him, wishing that _he_ was my brother, not the guy who'd given away my life. Wishing that I had the right to hug him more. To comfort him more. But he was my mechanic.

I stood there, watching him breathe slowly, his brown hair hiding his face from view. He swiped a hand across his eyes and then looked at me ruefully, a weak smile on his face. "Sorry. For everything."

"Mhm." Was all I could mumble, and I stood there for another minute, before I turned away and hurried out the door, closing it behind me and leaning against it, putting my head in my hands and sinking to the floor. I shook with shock, my hands trembling in my hair. Not another. Not another suffering victim of the experiment.


	3. Human Interaction Just Isn't My Forte

_No comment...just enjoy!_

Chapter Three

I sat mutely at the table with Ivan, a hand curled around the fork next to the plate, but seemingly unable to move to stab the sausage or hash browns that Ivan's kitchen system had made up this morning. It smelled delicious, the scrambled eggs were still steaming, and the toast was crispy to the touch, but my stomach felt hollow and queasy, unable to convince me to eat anything. Ivan severed a part of his hash browns off and slid it through ketchup, before catching a piece of sausage on it and levitating it to his mouth, chewing heartily like, well, a guy. But he stopped soon afterward, and I realize he was forcing himself to eat so that he'd have something to run on, though half his food was left on his plate. He finished his glass of orange juice, but I saw him grimace after he'd drained it, like he thought it going to come back and bite him.

After eating so little last night, then going on a mile sprint this morning to clear my mind, I should've been all over that plate, offering Ivan my services to finish what he left behind. But all I could do was bring my glass of milk to my lips and sip a little into my mouth, hoping it wouldn't make me feel any sicker than I already did.

Ivan pushed his chair away from the table with a small squeal, and took his plate and glass to the sink. He then rummaged around in the fridge and brought me a bottle of clear-_ish_ liquid, tinted a red-purple color, that was just a little cloudy.

"Drink this. I figured you may not be able to eat, so this will give you what you need." He said, and I nodded, grabbing it out of his offering hand and twisting the top off. I sipped at it as he exited the kitchen, heading back to the drawing room, then got up myself, grabbing a chunk of hash brown and chewing it thoroughly as I went back down the basement stairs, sitting on the TV with the bottle in my hand, and forced myself to swallow, feeling it all the way down.

"This week is gonna suck," I said to the TV, where Monday cartoons were hurting each other once again, like another kid wasn't going to have their life twisted and turned upside-down.

Three sad, silent, torturous days later, as I was in the kitchen, about to grab the carton of milk so I could get something in my stomach, since I'd regained my need for food, when there was a sharp smart rap on the door. I froze, peeking over the top of the fridge door and seeing the muddled, splotchy shape of people standing outside by the door.

"Ivan," I called, in the direction of the drawing room, staying frozen in place, my legs and feet suddenly filled with lead. "Ivan! Door!" I yelled, more frantically, my pulse rising in my ears.

It was possible that this wasn't the participant my ass-of-a-brother had told me about, in fact, there was a slight chance that they' decided not to go through with a second participant, and I latched onto those hopes desperately. Yet, in the pit of my stomach, dread boiled and was completely sure that I was being a fool, as Ivan emerged from the drawing room, looking how I felt as he walked to the door.

There was a split second where there were still hopes in my mind, still dread in my stomach, hand still frozen over the milk. Then he swung the door ope as someone else rang the doorbell impatiently, and I went numb, still stuck in my position near the fridge.

"Ivan Medrox. We're hear to deliver the new participant of"-

"I know what you're here for." It was Ivan's voice that thawed me out, with its sharp, obvious disdain for the two men in black suits on his front step, and tight with trembling anger. And it was contagious. I felt fury revive me out of my mopey attitude; I felt it flare all the way out to the tips of my toes, making my pulse rage in my ears as I straightened up stiffly, pushing the door of the fridge closed . Then I flicked my eyes back to the figure standing between the two men. Pale, with a head of wild black hair that feathered away at the base of his neck, covering his eyes from view. He was my age, I could tell, but taller, basically average-sized and wiry. My stomach twisted angrily and forcefully as my gaze cut over scars that were still red on his upper arms, remembering the threats I'd received when I'd resisted the force of the government, barely avoiding baring the same scars as him because of my brother. Fat good that did in the end for me.

"Right. Then, we'll have you handle it from here." One of the men said, and I watched as he pressed a big hand to the guy's back, and he shake off the hand silently, walking over the threshold of the door. The black-suited men gave Ivan a curt not he didn't return, then whirled around and left, as silently and quickly as they'd come, leaving a victim in their wake.

"Alright," I was on my way back to the basement when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and then it was whirling me around, turning me to face Ivan, his face distressed and fed-up. "Hot to I get him to say anything more than yes or no? I've been talking to him for an hour, but that's all he says!"

"Wuh? Oh, uh, well, why are you asking me?" I stammered, more focused on the water that had slopped down onto my stomach when he spun me, rubbing it with irritation.

"You were in his situation once, what did I say that got through to you?" He snapped, and I looked up at him, seeing how desperate he was to find something to communicate with this guy.

"I dunno," I slurred quickly, peering over his shoulder to the black-garbed guy sitting at a short table by one of the windows, his head propped on his hand, knowing that if I dug deep enough I could give Ivan the answer he needed. But that was just too painful. To delve back into the dark days before and shortly after the operation, where everything was an endless void of _"Why me?"_ would hurt more than I could handle, at least that was my excuse. I don't know why, but part of me was unreasonably resenting the new comer, yelling that he wasn't familiar, that he was unwelcome. I guess that's how I'd trained my mind to act after the first couple of false friendly faces.

"Ruxel," he said sternly, and I snapped my eyes back up to him. He looked serious this time. "Please, if there's something, anything that you can say..."

"He's a guy. As in, the opposite sex. And I haven't been exposed to the opposite sex that's anywhere near my age group foooor...three or four years. I have _no clue _what I could say to him." I said lightly, realizing just how pathetic that was for a fifteen year-old girl. At this, Ivan seemed to take note, and he resigned, looking back over his shoulder at the kid, who was still staring at a fixed point outside the window.

"Fine," he said, turning away from me and walking back over to the table. The guy didn't look up, didn't move his eyes, even when I heard the muffled sound of Ivan asking a question. His lips just moved in the action of saying _'yes.'_

It had been a week now. Blake Freymore is my new house mate, and I could tell his lack of conversation was beginning to truly grind down on Ivan's nerves, making his talk short and snipped, and when I slipped into the kitchen to get breakfast, I caught Ivan glaring at Blake from across the kitchen table where I'd so placidly watched him force himself to eat, probably for this guy's sake. I wasn't exactly growing to like this dude.

"VALENTINE!" I jumped, dropping my sandwich onto the basement floor, my last name ringing so loudly in my ears that I felt bad for Blake, who was on the same floor as Ivan. Forget the fact that I hated my last name and anyone who called me by it, Ivan was _done._ I could hear it so clearly in his voice, that if he spent one more minute with that guy alone, he was gonna electrocute him with one of his many inventions.

Racing up the stairs, I heard the clang of metal and the worst came to my mind: Ivan bent with a metal bar he'd picked up off the floor, thwacking Blake across the head with it. I burst through the door at the top of the basement stairs, and was surprised to see the guy sitting on one of the couches in the living room, looking alert with his head cocked in the direction of the drawing room, where the sound of clanging metal was coming from. Blake's head turned in my direction, and he opened his mouth to say something, but I rose a hand to silence him as I rushed pass, hurrying into the drawing room.

"Ivan?" I asked hastily, but all I saw was him gripping my wings and taking off the table. I opened my own mouth to say something, but he waved me off.

"C'mon, I need to see you fly," he said, a stormy, dark look on his face, and I knew he as really saying, _'Distract me from that idiot for a while, please.'_

"S-sure," I muttered distractedly as I pushed myself toward the table and leaned against it, pulling the back of my shirt up over my head.

He worked slowly, probably trying to waste as much time as possible. It was almost an hour before he grunted approval of his work and exited the room, forgetting to slit the shirt I was wearing. I rolled my eyes and pulled the shirt down over the wings, which were folded against my back, and then unfurled them, a tearing sound filling the room as they exploded back around me, almost toughing either side of the room with their eleven-foot wingspan. I curled them around me and embraced the feeling of them for a moment, eyes closed, settling my breathing as I ran a finger down the metal framing of my right wing.

Then I sighed, knowing I should take no pleasure in their metal, cold, harsh feel but so accustomed to them as a source of freedom. Still, I tucked them behind my back and followed Ivan's trail out of the room, where he was waiting by the back door. For a moment, I had forgotten about Blake, but he was suddenly very real when I saw him look at me, without blinking, but still probing as I walked across the disastrous living room. Ivan swung the door open for me, and I looked over my shoulder, past my wing, to Blake's dark eyes, and I realized they were just black, deep, endless shadows.

"Bank right!" Ivan called up, and I could just barely hear him through the wind pounding my face, but I complied, turning easily to the right, feeling no problems at all. I looked down at him for more directions, and he twirled his finger, and I started in a steep twirl towards the ground, barrel-rolling and twisting over myself, until I was so close to the ground I felt the high grass brush against my knees. I spread my wings out again, swooping over the huge field, letting my fingertips feel the wispy strands as they rushed across the plain. I looked over my shoulder back at Ivan and he flipped his hand over.

I stretched out my wings as much as the metal would allow, then pushed upward dramatically, stilling my wings for a moment, heaving my weight backwards, for a moment with my back to the ground, parallel with the earth, before I twisted over and slammed my wings down again, keeping myself from crashing into the ground. That one was always tough. I felt as though it had gone on forever, and was beginning to feel a little tired, but he snapped, and I dropped like a rock, spreading my wings out at the last minute and fluttering to the ground, breathing hard.

"That enough time?" I asked with a grin, and he smiled lopsidedly back at me.

"Yeah. Now I have to go do errands." He said with a wider smile, as though he was excited to escape from the house. While my stomach seemed to twist.

"You're leaving me here with Blake?" I asked, knowing well that there was a terribly shocked look on my face.

"That's right," he said, and began to walk back towards the house, his shoulders held a little higher. I took to the air, fuming, and zoomed pass him, making him jump as I swirled in the air.

"Ass!" I yelled down, but knowing it was really useless. No matter how well oiled and strong my wings may be, they could never let me escape from the Experiment's coordinators, not with a microchip embedded in my shoulder, which was encased in a forever-present metal shell.

"Bye, Rux!" He called over his shoulder as he walked out the front door, his car keys jingling in his hand.

"Uh-huh, whatever." I muttered angrily as the door slammed shut behind him and the rumble of a car engine filled the kitchen. I watched menacingly as the truck pulled away from the drive, and disappeared down the long road, leaving the house quiet without the constant sound of tinkling metal from his work. I sighed heavily and went to the fridge to get a bottle of water, holding it loosely at my side as I wen into the living room, watching as Blake's eyes flicked up to me, striking me with their darkness again, before moving again to look outside the window. It seemed like it was the only thing he did.

"So you really do fly." He said, not asking it, simply stating the fact as though it needed to be said aloud to be believed. His black hair dusted his cheek, and I wondered if this was how all guys my age looked, or if it was just him. If it was all of them, I could honestly say I was missing out.

"That's right." I responded, standing steadily in the doorway. "And you actually form sentences."

His eyes flicked to me, then back to the window again. "Yeah, whatever." He said coolly, but I only took a step forward, twisting my neck to look and see if there was actually something outside the window.

"What're you even looking at?" I asked, seeing only the vast field.

"Nothing."

"Then why do you keep looking out the window?"

"I'm thinking."

"Bout what?"

"About how much you talk." He said crisply, and furrowed his brows as he stared intently out the window, but I wasn't affronted, not in the slightest.

"What were you thinking about before that?" I pressed, knowing I was getting into something I didn't want to open up, but suddenly feeling the guilt of how I'd neglected him.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"Oh really?" He said harshly, turning to glare at me. "What would you know about it?"

"Hello! I _am_ what they plan for you to _become. _I was once 'thinking,' too." I answered, waving my water bottle around for emphasis. He only turned back to the window and seemed to glare out now. "Thinking...about what a shit hole my life was."

He turned to look at me with that, and I looked at him steadily, even though his face was impassive. "And how my brother sold me out. And, that I'd never see my friends from school again." Then again, he didn't look like the type for friends. "That I basically had all my rights as a human being taken from me. I was threatened, and hurt, and told to go through things I didn't think I'd be able to stand." The words were spilling out now, and he looked at me intently, no emotion, just a look.

"I thought about how I felt beaten and broken. Thought about how it all sucked." I shifted the water bottle to my other hand, smiling without happiness. "So I'll ask you again: What're you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about how idiotic you are, to think that you know what I'm going through when you don't know anything." That one hurt. I'd expected for him to open up and pour out his thoughts as I'd exposed mine, but all there was was his impassive face, emotionless and infuriating. I stood, silent, and then turned away quickly, returning to my lair, wishing I could go attach my wings again and soar, become as close to free as possible. Because being stuck in here with Blake Freymore sucked.


	4. Me and My Games  We Get Into Trouble

_This is approximately eight months later, just so no one gets completely lost. Blake, Ivan, and Ruxel have been at the house during this time, in case that clears some things up. As always, R/R! By the way, feel free to give me any ideas...I'm running a bit low._

_~ Also, sorry about the last chapter's awkwardness, I forgot to separate breaks in the story, so that's why it was so choppy. Gonna fix that soon, don't worry._

Chapter Four

Less than a year passed by, before the next one came. Another fist of deadly, hateful, furious anger wrapped its grip around my heart, choking the tolerance out of me to the point where I was tempted to scream out loud and smack the new suited men that showed up with a six year old between them, the little girl's eyes bright and blue, her light brown hair wavy and healthy at one time, I was sure, but now matted and tangled.

"Ivan," I'd said quietly in the kitchen later that evening, while Blake sat silently with the little girl, Marcy, in the tornado-wrecked living room. "What did they threaten you with? What's so horrible that you're letting them make you do this to a six-year old?" I'm not accusing this time, but gentle, sensing that there really was something they held high above his head, something important to him that he couldn't stand to see hurt in any way.

"It's not your business, Valen"-

"Don't," I say warningly, half-cringing at the name he was about to call me. "And whether you like it or not, it _is_ my business, cause I'm affected by it. All you have to do is tell me."

He stares down at the little contraption he's working on, then gives a big sigh. "I don't need to give you another reason to rebel against the Experimenters, Rux."

"They can't be threatening to kill you because you're essential to their plans, so what is it? Shutting you down? Stripping you of your home? Family?" And he cringes. "No." Is all I can say, but its firm, refusing, unacceptable.

"Ruxel, please don't," He pleads, but I can't sit this one out.

"Van, if their threatening you with family, you should've told me from the start. I wouldn't have blown up at you last fall, when Blake arrived, or every other time I was feeling particularly crappy about my situation." I insisted, leaning heavily on the table, feeling colder than a minute before, despite my thick turtleneck. "And above all, you have to _do something._"

He stares down at the little metallic machine, and I think I saw it move a little, but I was really focused on the helpless expression on his face, like he, of all people was broken. "Rux, there's _nothing_ I can do except...that." He looks at my wings with a sober expression, his green eyes hazy and tired. "They threaten me every time to _kill them_, Ruxel. I can't...I can't let that happen when there's something I can do to stop it. I know you don't have much family to care for, but"-

"No," I say mildly, turning away. "Don't ask me to try to understand. Because you are my family to care for, and that's what I'm doing right now, isn't it?"

Blake acknowledges my presence when I walk into the living room, my feet now trained to walk barefoot, picking themselves up from a nail or screw before they could get stabbed. Marcy was looking at Blake, quiet and quizzical as her brown hair quivered slightly in the ceiling fan's wind. Blake pointed to me, looked at Marcy, and then said with that annoyingly impassive face of his, "Marcy, that's Valentine."

"Don't train her to call me that!" I flustered, annoyed that along with calling me Valentine himself and almost rubbing off on Ivan, he was gonna make a six-year old contribute to my misery.

"It's your name, though." He said blankly, his face just as bank of emotion, though I had a sneaking suspicion that he was laughing maniacally on the inside.

"My last name, therefore not what I should be called," I muttered heatedly as Marcy began to let her legs kick against the chair she was perched on. "Marcy, I'm Ruxel."

He blue eyes fixed on me, and she nodded vigorously, but there was something blank about the way she peered at me through her hair that made my skin feel tight. "Your eyes...are they alright?"

Blake shot me a careful look as I realized it was one eye that was blank and hazy. I cursed under my breath and felt my shoulders burn with the anticipation to take flight and burn off the anger. They'd made her blind, with those pretty eyes. Even if it was only one, it made my lungs fill with hot air, and I felt like my patience was going to boil over for the Experimenters.

"It's okay." She said, with a sing-song voice that made my cool heart squeeze. "It doesn't hurt, and I can still see out of the other one."

There wasn't much to talk about after that, with all our heads filled with heavy thoughts, except maybe Marcy's, but I'm sure me, Blake, and Ivan were making up for her share.

"Need some help with that?" I asked, as Blake struggled with his wings. A month after he'd arrived he'd gone through the operation that Ivan performs as a one-man surgeon team, and then came the four months of rehabilitation. Only in the last three months had he begun to fly, and shakily, to put it kindly.

Now he was in the drawing room with me, trying to hold his right wing up with one hand while fastening it into the bio mechanism on his shoulders with the other. I lifted one metal wing and attached it, easily finding the latch and catch that fastened it into place, and following by connecting the the wing. He managed to get one up, and lifted the other, fitting this one in much easier.

"None needed." He said blandly. Sometimes I'd felt jealous of him, since he had been able to fly without tearing up a shirt, but now we both had to tear through not just one shirt, but a shirt, two sweaters, and our sport jackets, a dreadful ripping sound flooding the room as we both stretched our wings wide. I nestled my wings close to my side, almost expecting to feel the softness of feathers, but getting only the sensation of cool metal on my cheek as one of the metal feathers on the ridge brushed my face. I looked over at Blake, whose wings looked darker, and I had a feeling Ivan may have planned it, since his hair and eyes were so dark. But they were larger than mine, and he looked at them as though he was still not used to them. Like they couldn't possibly be connected to him, feeding off his energy.

I folded my wings tightly and hurried out the drawing room, across the living room, and out into the back, biting my wind-chapped lips as the cold nipped at my face. The extra torn clothes were worth it, since it would only get worse when we took flight. Yet, I felt exhilarated by the chill and almost put my palms against the ground and stretched like a cat, while flexing my wings. Somehow, I could feel it when the gears turned and worked, and the when the pulleys tugged at metal frames, it was like flexing the hamstrings in my calves. I could also feel it when they got achy from the cold, as well, and I could begin to feel it. If I didn't get off the ground and moving, soon, my nerves and the oil were gonna freeze up. And Blake wasn't doing any better than me.

"Ready?" I asked, batting my wings a little bit to keep them warm. In answer, he pounded down the short path that we'd shoveled out of the snow on the ground, and then leapt into the air, spreading his dark wings and shoveling air, trying to push through the dead cold air near the ground to get up to the thermal drafts that lie above us. He managed to get steady, but he wobbled as he pushed up again.

With one cloudy, cool breath, I started sprinting down the shoveled path, gaining speed I didn't really need like he did, and then launching myself into the air, my wings slapping down the lifeless air and lifting me higher. Within seconds, I was level with Blake, twirling and dipping and trying not to leave him in the dust. Surprisingly, he was kind of hard to annoy. Instead, I bossed him around on how to improve his flying.

"Stop thinking about it," I said for the hundredth time. "Have you ever seen a bird sitting on a branch, eying the sky and thinking about how to fly? No, because birds don't think about flying." I chided, doing a barrel-roll as he looked at me intensely. With hatred, no doubt. I realized that I really didn't think about flying at all either, at least when I wasn't doing special test maneuvers for Ivan. I breathed a deep breath and tried to ignore the cold that was seeping into the metal surrounding my shoulders. My nerves had never actually frozen up before, but I so didn't want them to, for fear of dropping out of the sky again.

I turned and headed back in the direction of the house, sinking down to the field and wishing I could run my fingers through the grass again instead of staring at the snow. Then I swoop up over the roof, running across it while my wings still flapped, feeling like an Olympic runner, I was going so fast. I could hear Blake's wing beats behind me, and gave a little shout of happiness as I leapt back off the roof, seamlessly rejoining him in the air. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the cool wind for a moment.

"Valentine!" I swung around completely within the second, hovering in midair like a hummingbird. I looked over to see Blake standing on the roof, looking down at the ground with a fierce look on his eyes. I followed his gaze and saw a black SUV pulling up to the curb, with a small metal wing for a hood ornament.

_This can't be good._ I thought to myself as I lowered myself from the sky, from what little freedom I had, landing fifteen feet away from the same SUV that had come to take me and my brother from our home three and a half years ago.

"It's not the same as the one I was brought here in," Blake said as he landed roughly beside me. "Do you think it could still be another 'participant?'" He asked, his voice tight.

"Dunno...don't think so, though." I said quietly, feeling someone's eyes settling on us through the heavily-tinted windows. I pulled my wings closer to me, feeling a numbness start to creep over my shoulders from being still. "Either way, we need to get inside before we freeze up."

He started towards the door and I spent one more moment looking where I felt the eyes glaring out at me, before following him to the front porch and into the warm, welcoming house, shaking off any numbness that had tried to grip my shoulders.

"Ivan, there's people outside," I announced loudly, having no clue where he really was, walking into the kitchen and flipping the blinds on the window open so I could peer out at the SUV, watching as the doors began to swing open. Out of the driver's side I could see a head of stylishly cut dark brown hair, and a tall stature, and then leaned back away from the window, my breath fogging the cool window. I felt Ivan come to my side and look out as well, a bashful sigh brushing from his lips as the head of handsome hair revealed Davis M. Ford, and I leaned back against the table, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to breathe steadily through my nose, when it felt like I could spit fire if I really wanted to.

"You may not have to go, Rux." Ivan said quietly as he stood near the window.

"Trust me, I'm not worried about myself at the moment," I said, and I fluttered my wings impatiently, feeling animal-like as I became aware of Marcy's happy voice echoing in from the destructive living room, greeting Blake and saying something about his wings.

Ford and one of his underlings exited the SUV and started up the drive, and I could only think about how Ford didn't deserve to be as handsome as he was, with his vile, scheming mind. My wings shifted uncomfortably, itching to take to the sky, and I resisted the urge to gnaw on my nails. He no doubt could see us watching him approach the front porch and walk to the door, but he still knocked, as though he had a bit of respect for us and our privacy.

"So you hope it's you?" Ivan asked, not moving toward the door yet.

"Better me than them." I said stonily, and then he moved to the door, and I was left alone in the kitchen, until I felt someone behind me on the opposite side of the table. I turned, careful not to crash into anything with my fidgety wings.

Blake stood stonily by the table as he detached his wings and set them down on the surface of the table. He looked at me with his calculating eyes. I didn't know anything about him, not even after eight months of being around him, except that he got some enjoyment out of annoying me.

"Who are they?" He said, peering out the window at an angle to look at Ford and the other guy waiting for Ivan to arrive at the door.

"Horrible people."

The door was opened for them and Ford nodded to Ivan as he walked inside, probably without invitation. "Why are they here?" Blake asked.

"We'll see in a minute, I bet," I muttered, hot breath feeling steamy in my throat as I hissed air through my nose again.

"Ah, Ruxel, there you are." I turned to face Ford as he walked into the kitchen, his smoldering brown eyes surveying the messy kitchen critically, then judging my wings carefully while I glared at him, my arms still crossed angrily over my chest.

"Always love to see you, Ford." I said bitterly, feeling the back of my neck blister with heat as he gave a me a fake, A-Lister smile. He took off his glasses and tucked them into the chest pocket of his suit, which I yearned to spit on and push into the snow. "What do you want?" I asked, trying to keep my voice flat and keep him from noticing my fury.

"I'd actually like to speak to Ivan first, he _is_ the adult guardian for all of you at the moment and"-

"Ivan's a mechanic. Talk to me if it's got something to do with Marcy or Blake." I said, pushing all the power I could possess into my voice, feeling it reverberate in the room in the few silent moments after where Ford looked at me in disbelief.

"Alright, I can do that," he said, smiling in a relaxed way and giving a short laugh. "I've got orders to bring you and Blake back to New York to ready for an assignment."

"No."

"Excuse me?" He asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise at the one syllable I'd packed with so much defiance.

"I can't leave now. Marcy's still readying for the operation, Blake still needs to keep flying, and I need to be here for both of those events." I said stonily, flapping my wings in annoyance at his doubtful look. I was not going to be unnerved by him, by his belittling attitude towards me and his superior doubt. I felt like I could unfurl my wings and slap him in the face if I didn't keep myself in check, though.

"You don't have a choice, Ruxel." He said.

"You're right. I can't choose to leave," I countered, holding my ground.

"We have permission to use force, if necessary. I don't want to have to do that to you," He said, narrowing his eyes and straightening his stance.

"You mean you would just love to drag me out by my hair. Don't lie, Ford." I said, my voice steely and hard as Ivan came up behind Ford's subordinate, squeezing into the kitchen and looking at me warningly. But that only made more anger flood into my mind, wrap around my heart. Everyone that wasn't a victim of the Experiment was closing in on the victims, backing them into a corner. Ivan was threatened with his own family, and I was made to feel helpless and used. Marcy was blinded in one eye, and Blake was practically mute, having lost whatever he'd lost.

"Ruxel, this your last chance," Ford warned, and I felt everyone's gazes on me. This was my call. They probably didn't really need Blake, but they had to have me. It wasn't like I hadn't been in this situation before, but all those other times, when I was confronted with either struggling or submitting, it was supposedly only on my neck. I never knew how badly they were hurting Ivan, that they were planning to drag more people into this. I couldn't possibly stand by and give in this time. I had to fight _somehow._

"I won't go."

He sighed heavily, and my shoulders felt like they were burning, they wanted to badly to expand my wings and attack Ford before he could lay a hand on anyone. Then, he looked at me with a tired stare, and signaled to the other SUVs outside. More men filed out, and I was frozen for one second, before I burst into action. Ford's eyes widened as I vaulted myself over the table, zipping past Blake, who was looking at me like I'd lost it. Marcy was sitting, wide eyed in the wild living room as I sprinted through it, dashing through the back door and jumping off the back porch.

I heard Ford and his subordinate thunder out behind me, but it was too late. My wings unfurled from behind me and I pushed hard with them, soaring above and out of their reach in juts a few seconds.

More people filed out onto the porch and I looked over my shoulder as I zoomed over the dead field. SWAT men were crowding around the porch, and I saw something that looked like a bazooka launcher, but I had a better idea of what it was. Net launcher.

I heard the boom of it and stopped my wings, falling drastically, watching as the net soared over head, a grin slipping across my face as I turned over on my back, seeing Ford's disgruntled face. I flashed my grin at him and he barked at one of the SWAT team members, who packed another net into the launcher, and I felt ready this time. It launched with a big blast, and I watched the pod fly toward me, moving to dodge it, but it suddenly burst open, quicker than the last one, and caught the edge of my left wing. I twirled and it fell to the ground but suddenly I was falling, fighting another net that had caught me while I was getting rid of the other one.

I cursed, batting my wings as much as I could, to slow the fall, but still hitting the hard-packed snowy ground hard, wincing at a rib split in two, and lying in a huddle, cold heap on the frosty ground, the sound of quick footfalls nearing.

"I don't play games, Ruxel." Ford loomed over me as a the small SWAT team circled around me as a precaution. To even my surprise, a low growl ripped from my throat, leaving it feeling hoarse. I went with it and flapped my wings angrily, making him jump back in the snow, a small blizzard lifting up around him. "You've spent to much time in the sky out here. Do you like being an animal?"

"Better than being an experiment," I said hoarsely, still sounding like I was growling, like I was a feral animal that they'd trapped and had hopes of breaking. "And you don't know the first thing about what all this really does to us."

"Hmph." He grunted and nodded to the team. Suddenly two people were lifting me up in the net, still tangled within it, my wings trapped, clipped, the sky taunting me from its constant perch.


End file.
